


In Memoriam

by alphonseelric22



Series: Home [1]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Gen, M/M, conqueror of shamballa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-01 03:55:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12696804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alphonseelric22/pseuds/alphonseelric22
Summary: There is much Alphonse has yet to repay Roy Mustang for, but he has a good idea of where to start.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been in a very CoS mood lately for no particular reason and this idea popped up and wouldn't go away.
> 
> I've been sort of in love with the idea of Roy and Al having further interactions in the time before Ed comes home and sort of bonding in their own way in Ed's absence. I apologize for any typos or sentences that may be missing a word. It was proofread but I suck at catching mistakes half the time hahahahaha
> 
> Part 2 will (hopefully) be finished within the week so I can get this thing completed.
> 
> Also partially inspired by Things We Lost in the Fire by Bastille.

Alphonse has never been been terribly accustomed to feeling out of place in a room full of people but it's been happening so often lately that he's beginning to worry. The only things he's learned are those he's caught in whispers around the house, ones never intended for his ears at all. He knows that he and Ed performed human transmutation and it's obvious that it didn't work. He knows he woke up in Central with a girl named Rose who looked both relieved and indescribably sad. He knows that something so awful happened that no one dares speak of it when he's nearby, or at least when they know he is. He knows that there's something they are hiding from him.

 

He also knows that Ed is gone, which they haven't tried to hide, but how and where and why haven't been explained to him.

 

Al doesn't want to be ungrateful for all they've done for him in the last two months and in the years before. Granny and Winry have been, as they always are, wonderful to him. They've taken him in and kept him safe and loved him like only Ed could. He owes them quite a bit that he intends to repay. It's not that he doesn't appreciate them. It's that there's this swirling, howling void in his mind that's blocking all of the answers and no one else is making it any easier to see through.

 

There have been few visitors between his waking and Central and coming home, but those who have come haven't told him anything more either. Every time he asks about Ed, about what happened, every time it feels like he may get at least a few crumbs to work from, they close up. They go silent. They look so pained that Alphonse almost feels bad for asking. He can't though. This is about Ed, about the brother who looked after him and took care of him when mom died and acted almost like a parent so Al wouldn't have to think of what they'd lost. While their feelings do matter, they don't matter as much as Ed. That much is clear.

 

Then a man named Mustang came, with a patch over one eye and a cane in one hand, looking so weary that it must've been in his very bones by then. He sat with Al and when he had questions, Roy answered.

 

It must've been several hours in which they sat talking and by the time Winry had come back outside, the sun was setting and the air was cooling. Most of all, Al's determination was set.

 

Roy said he knew Al, said he knew Ed. He told him stories of his brother and the suit of armor that always walked beside him. He told him about missions and libraries and his brother's immense selflessness. The most important of all of this was something about a stone, _the_ stone, and how it all culminated in him here with no memory of the time between bringing mom back and waking up with Rose. Roy doesn't know anymore than anyone else just how Ed disappeared or where he's gone but he seems rather certain that it was for Al.

 

All the more reason for him to get moving.

 

Before Roy leaves, he pulls Al aside, lays a hand on one of his shoulders, and smiles. “There's one last thing I want to give you. It's something terribly important that you mustn't lose or mistreat.”

 

“Of course.” Even if it was only a single paltry letter, or some sort of tiny item important to Roy, Al would never lose it. Roy has given him so much more in one day than he ever could have hoped for. It's the least he can do. “What is it?”

 

Roy lifts a bag that Alphonse hadn't noticed before. He can hardly be blamed for that considering what he was preoccupied with. He kneels and sets it down between them then take a small leather bound journal from inside and hands it to Al.

 

“This is one of the many journals your brother wrote while the two of you traveled together,” he says and Al can't breathe or tear his eyes away from the priceless treasure in his hands. “There's more inside here as well a collection of old reports and letters I collected recently. All are cataloged and I made sure to leave them just as your brother wrote them. I'm certain you'll have no trouble deciphering the notes he left behind. Use them as you wish.”

 

Al's hands are shaking rather visibly, so much so that he almost drops the journal, as he opens the book. The penmanship is _terrible_ , there are doodles in the margins, and some stains that he doesn't want to guess at the origin of. Everything is scrawled messily here and there with different circles and arrays throughout the pages, but it is unmistakably Ed's. This is a physical link beyond the blood in his veins. This is the last vestiges of a boy no longer here but remembered with such fondness by all who knew him. This is the single best gift Alphonse has ever received.

 

He's crying as he closes it, carefully places it in the back in the bag with the rest, and then throws his arms around the man. He can't see anything from his new position but hears someone sniffling nearby so it's like Winry's crying as hard as he is. That's fine. For some reason, he feels like they've both earned it.

 

“Thank you,” Al says, voice shaking because he can barely breathe. “I can't describe to you what this means.”

 

There's an arm around him now and he can somehow feel the smile even though he can't see it. “No thanks are needed. Just take care of yourself.”

 

When Al draws himself away from Roy, he's grinning and he feels so alive and free that the laugh comes out before he can even think to stop it. Roy stands, one hand on his back to stabilize himself and the woman who came with him, he thinks her name is Riza, hands him his cane. He says his final goodbyes and leaves for the station and contemplates following.

 

No. This will need more preparation than that. He needs to brush up on his knowledge of alchemy, as well as go through the notes he's been given to find a place to start.

 

He is going to find Ed. No two ways about it.

 

* * *

 

Alphonse loves train rides. Ed often complained about them in his various thoughts put to paper but he finds them rather relaxing. He did, however, enjoy the odd drawing of the train with horns and a snarl that Ed had done. For Al, train rides give him time alone with just his thoughts, time that he can spend trying to remember the past he's lost and the brother that's gone and the people who he should know but has only just met. It also gives him plenty of time to read through the pieces of himself that his brother left behind without anything to interrupt him.

 

He's read them all several times over and he's at the point where he's memorized a good chunk of what they hold. He could likely recite the reports from memory, or at least an abridged version of them so anyone in his company doesn't have to her the endless profanities Ed was so fond of. There's something comforting in every piece he now carries in his suitcase. It's almost like he can talk with him again, picture him sitting across from him and carrying on about how much the seats on the train suck. It's almost as if Ed is here with him when he reads through again and again.

 

Al watches the scenery outside the train as it blurs and the colors mix in the dwindling light. The sun is quickly making its way out of sight and Al should probably think about getting to sleep soon. After all, it is quite a long way to the north.

 

By the time he's reached the snow covered station and stood to pull his heavier coat on, Al's thinking that Ed may have been on to something with the seats. His backside certainly thinks so.

 

At this point, he's fairly used to seeing the swirling white the second he steps on to the platform but he's not sure he'll ever get used to this cold. It's like this nearly all year, with the city blanketed in snow and the air actively trying to freeze off his phalanges. It's a wonder anyone can live here without getting frostbite. He steps from the platform and his boots make the snow crunch underneath. He's got one stop before the one he came here for. With any luck, the shop will still be open and he can get something to warm him up.

 

He's had a lot of time over the last year to sample food and drinks from all over the country but the coffee in North city is by far the best. One might think that the taste wouldn't matter so much as the temperature and that it may fall by the wayside in areas such as this just because the heat of the beverage would be enough. That isn't the case with the little shop a few blocks west of the station. The coffee is fantastic, the pastries are heavenly, and, perhaps best of all, the girl running the shop is beautiful.

 

He can hardly be blamed for noticing. He is only human.

 

Once he's carrying a small paper bag as well as his suitcase and coffee and has flirted with Elizabeth (such a lovely name) just enough to darken her cheeks, he sets off to quickly make his way to the small cabin on the outskirts of town.

 

He has to kick snow to the side to make a path to the door as he approaches and then it's a balancing act to keep from dropping anything when he knocks. Fortunately, he isn't kept waiting for long.

 

“Hello, Alphonse. You should get inside before you freeze,” Roy says and Al's chest warms and he doesn't feel so cold anymore. Roy Mustang is far too good to him.

 

When he does make it inside and finally releases himself from the coat and his boots (he knows Roy isn't going to let him leave tonight no matter how hard he tries), Roy immediately ushers him over to the fireplace and sits beside him.

 

“To what do I owe this impromptu visit?” Roy asks.

 

“I actually had some more questions for you but that can wait. I brought food!” Al says, holding up the paper bag.

 

Roy smiles and there's something else behind it Al can't quite distinguish. “I trust Elizabeth is doing well.”

 

Al just grins as he selects one of the pastries then passes the bag over. “Wonderfully,” he says, pausing to take a bite and swallow it. He's made a point to have better manners than Ed ever supposedly did. “How have you been?”

 

“As well as can be expected. Why didn't you phone before arriving? I would have come to meet you at the station,” he says.

 

Al waves his hand as he chews. “I don't want to impose.”

 

“You are never an imposition, Alphonse.”

 

Al smiles as the fire warms his toes and watches the light play off of the stone hearth as he thinks of a tactful way of saying what he needs to. Roy has been so good to him, giving him any information he needed and always providing a second home for him when he comes by but... Al can sense there's something else he isn't telling him. He's not sure how he can tell, but the feeling is there all the same. Roy has never been one to hide information from him and Alphonse knows he's been given all of the important pieces by him. Still... it's as if there's something more he's holding on to that he isn't quite ready to relinquish and that just makes Al all the more curious.

 

He figures it's just an Elric trait.

 

“Is something the matter?”

 

“Not particularly,” Al says as he brushes crumbs from his trousers. “It's just that... are you certain that was all you could find before? I don't mean to pry or doubt you. You've been the most forthcoming of anyone I know where it concerns brother. It might be better if I explain something else first.”

 

Roy is is quiet and focusing on him so Al takes that as an invitation to continue.

 

“It's strange. I can sort of detect things about people. Nothing overly bad, necessarily, just when there's something more they may be keeping to themselves. I'm not sure where this comes from. It could have something to do with the time I can't remember.”

 

“And you've detected something within me?” Roy asks, voice soft and expression totally unreadable. He's the only person Alphonse knows that has been capable of putting up a wall between himself and another person so effectively that even he can't get through it. Sometimes it frustrates him. Other times, it just makes him wonder what has hurt him so much that he feels the need to hide.

 

“It isn't that I don't trust you. I do. It just feels like something else is missing, another piece to the puzzle, likely the most important one.”

 

The silence stretches out over several minutes, only broken by Al sipping his coffee, and he feels like maybe he toed too far over a boundary. People are like that when they have something they want to keep to themselves. They get defensive and they hurt when someone else asks for their secrets. Everyone has something they want to keep private. Everyone has something to hide, be it good or bad. He understands. It's not as if he's meaning to prod at some unseen wound, especially concerning Roy Mustang who deserves so little of the loathing he reserves for himself.

 

Just as Al is about to open his mouth to apologize Roy shifts and stands and smiles, soft and sad with this distance in his eye that Al can't even fathom how to bridge. “One would think I might know better by now.”

 

“What about?” Al asks, turning to keep his gaze on Roy as he goes over to his small desk and opens one drawer.

 

“It is impossible to keep secrets from an Elric.” He looking for something, what Alphonse can't figure out, and deposits some papers on the top of the desk in his search. “You two are far too insightful and intelligent for your own good.”

 

There's a good possibility there might be a bit of pastry stuck in his throat considering his inability to speak at the moment. Roy seems to have found what he was looking for while Al failed to find any words, though, since he's coming back to take a seat once more.

 

“I haven't been as truthful with you as I could have been. Please know that isn't your fault in any way and it isn't something I wished to keep from you so much as keep to myself.” Alphonse is listening intently but this is almost exactly like that time a year ago, when they met all over again and Roy was kind enough to tell him whatever he knew and listen as Alphonse rambled off on tangents. He can't help staring at the item in his hands. “Your brother,” he says and he probably doesn't even notice the way he's stroking his thumb over the book almost... _lovingly_ , “was... is very important to me. I can't really divulge in what ways or forms, but I can tell you that. This was his final journal.”

 

Al sets the coffee on the table, since he's liable to spill it any moment now, and takes the book when Roy offers it to him. This one is far more worn than any of the others. The corners of the cover are frayed and there are bit of paper sticking out at all different angles from the inside. This one is also much thicker then any of the others as well. Alphonse guesses it likely has twice the content (if not more) than the others. The front cover is different too, not just because of the scratches and tears. In the front, in bright gold lettering, are stamped the letters E. E.

 

“Maybe to say it was his final one is a bit disingenuous,” Roy says and Al's eyes snap up to his solitary one. “It is the final in that it is the last one for you to obtain. It was his own personal one.”

 

Al's brows furrow because all of them are technically Ed's personal journals and writing. There are drawings and anecdotes about their lives and so much more. “What do-”

 

“All of the others seemed to be mainly for containing research, locations, and other important information. This one, however, is entirely composed of his thoughts, feelings, and the like. I suppose you could say it was his diary.”

 

There's still something that doesn't make sense. If this was only personal accounts from Ed, no alchemy no theories, nothing but his who he was as a person, why does Roy have it? Why hasn't he spoken about it before? “I don't understand. If this is just his diary, why do you have it.”

 

This smile is different from any other that Alphonse has ever seen on Roy. It's from an entirely different universe than all the others. The shadows in his eye darken just a bit more but the odd part is that they don't take over like they have so many times before. “As I said,” he says and Alphonse feels like a fool for not seeing it sooner, “he is very important to me.”

 

For the first time in what feels like his life, Alphonse doesn't think before he speaks, doesn't weigh the words and choose them carefully. “You're in love with him.” It isn't a question, it isn't an accusation. It is a statement of something that, now that he's said it, makes so much sense that he feels almost stupid for not noticing. It's obvious now in the lines on his forehead and the dark circle under his remaining eye and his far off gaze whenever they talk about Ed. It's so obvious now.

 

After what feels like an eternity, Roy turns to him and he's still smiling. “Too damn smart,” he says but there's no malice behind it. He does hear some hurt there and his heart is breaking for this man.

 

Roy Mustang, unbeknownst to Al, has been sitting here waiting every day for the boy who disappeared, just as desperate to see him as Alphonse himself. Roy has been here in this cold little cabin outpost, alone in more ways than one. Roy has listened to Alphonse talk and ask about Ed at length. How much of it hurts him now? How much of it does he blame himself for? How much does he regret?

 

He almost doesn't want to do this but he doesn't feel right, _this_ doesn't feel right. It isn't... equivalent. “After all you've done for me and all you've lost,” Al says and he's surprised that his voice sounds so raw and rough, “I can't take this from you. I can't.”

  
Al gently holds the diary out for Roy to take back but he only smiles again and wraps his hands over Al's where they're clinging to the book. “You can and you will. I've read it more times than I can count and I feel it's time to let go of it. Of all the people it could have gone to, you deserve it the most. Just promise me one thing.”

  
He just nods because he can't speak around the strangling pressure in his chest.

  
“Find him and as soon as you do, tell him I'm sorry.”

  
Al looks him in the eye and the grin feels so damn good despite the tears burning the corners of his eyes. “You can tell him yourself, along with the other things that aren't my place to say. Thank you.”

 

Roy nods and releases his hands so he can gently set the book on the table. “I think we should both get some sleep now. You have quite the journey ahead of you.”

* * *

 

  
Al waits until he's on the train the next morning to begin reading. Roy never said he had to but it didn't feel right starting on it then and there, with Roy giving up his last physical link to Ed in that lonely cabin. It almost felt like he'd be throwing it in his face and Alphonse doesn't want to hurt him like that. He'll be missing this enough as it is.

  
Al is careful as he opens the diary, both to keep the loose pages from spilling out and to keep the twine binding it from splitting any more than it already has. He has to stop several times before he can even start. This is a different part of who his brother is. This is Ed seeing himself from within. This is so much deeper and different than reading scribbled formulas and quickly jotted hypotheses. He needs to take care in reading this. He needs to be respectful of this.

  
It's nearly night by the time he's finished it. The other passengers have either moved to the dining car or fallen asleep so he's able to cry without judgment. Ed mentioned crying in this one. He talked about how he couldn't, not just because he thought he needed to stay strong for them but just because it wasn't fair. At least in his mind it wasn't. He talked about how he couldn't just... let it out because he felt it just wasn't fair for him because Al was still a hollow suit of armor. Al's sure he masked it in public behind some sort of machismo based on Roy's stories of him but this diary tells a different tale. Ed saw crying almost as a weakness that he wasn't allowed.

  
Al finds it cathartic, almost cleansing. He's been doing an awful lot of it within two days time. He can hardly help it. Maybe Ed should have tried it more often. Maybe he would have felt at least a little better. Maybe it could have helped in some small way.

  
He wipes his eyes on his sleeve and looks back down at the journal. There, tucked in a slit inside the back cover, is another paper he hadn't noticed before. It's not as worn as the rest of them and looks as if it's been unfolded only once or twice since it was put there. Al is still as careful with it as he was with the rest. He mustn't lose or mistreat any of it.

  
He only gets a few lines in before he folds it up and places it back where it belongs. This is one he doesn't need to read. It is one that he doesn't feel he even has the right to glance at. He'll have to send it out at the next station. Hopefully, he still has enough cens for the postage. Besides, it's likely to be a nice surprise for Roy.

  
Al tucks the diary away in his luggage then pulls his coat tighter around him and smiles. No more tears now. No more regrets.

  
He's going to find Ed or die trying.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS SO OVERDUE! I AM SO SORRY! ;A; I don't deserve you, lovely readers. I am terrible DX

It always takes far too long to warm the small cabin Roy lives in these days. By the time he's woken in the morning, the previous night's flames have died down to faintly glowing coals and his skin stings from the cold. Slippers are an absolute necessity in order to keep all of his toes. He learned this the hard way on one of the first frigid mornings when he touched them to the tiled floor in the kitchen and it was freezing enough to burn. Ed would probably howl with laughter if Roy told him how he'd yelped like a kicked puppy.

But Ed isn't here.

The fire is building steadily in the hearth by the time he's begun brewing his coffee and his body has warmed enough for him to feel more properly awake. One might think the freeze of this place would jar his mind quickly enough to brush off the last vestiges of sleep but his whole body clings to it greedily. It is, after all, the only place for Roy to see him, or at least revisit the memories of him. Roy doesn't know how he looks or sounds now. He doesn't know if his hair is cut or trailing even longer between his shoulder blades. He doesn't know if those eyes are still bright or if time and a high quantity of tragedies have dulled them. He may well never know.

He still keeps the last image of him, framed by the setting sun with a grim sort of resignation set on his face. Roy's not sure if he's correctly recalling Ed's hand shaking ever so slightly as he held out a worn journal or if it's a lie conjured in an attempt to see something where there very well could be nothing. Some of the details are fuzzy, which he attributes to the more immediate issue of Bradley and the subsequent fight which cost him his left eye and a small boy his life. The one thing that is crystal clear is Ed and the uncharacteristic salute then the gentle slap of the metal hand against Roy's flesh one. Then there's his back and the braid swinging as he darts off on some unknown path.

Roy needs to drink his coffee before it gets cold, which doesn't take very long, then set to doing the day's chores. His reward will be a glass of brandy, a blazing fire, and that precious image of Edward Elric with the sky blazing behind him.

He'd best get to it.

* * *

 

Before he can settle in for the night he needs to make a phone call, the same one he dreads making every single week. He calls her on the same day at the same time and he has been since he exiled himself to this frozen tundra. It still hasn't gotten any easier. In fact, he's almost certain it's become more difficult as time has stretched on. He knows she doesn't hate him but he also knows that she no longer respects him and, in some ways, that's worse than outright rejection of him. Roy could never be a good enough friend to her and he's proved that over the years with his outright neglect of her. He doesn't deserve her.

He dials and sighs while he waits for the line to catch and the crisp voice to greet him and chastise him in one breath.

“Hawkeye.”

“Hello,” he says.

“Ah,” she says. “One moment.” She's set the receiver down or at least that's his explanation for the slight clacking sound. He also thinks he can hear a chair being pushed back. She doesn't keep him waiting long. “My apologies, sir. You know very well what sort of snoops you've collected over the years.”

He smiles. “You don't answer to me anymore, Riza. So, I was correct in assuming you were closing the door.” He pauses and he _hates_ himself for making this awkward, for the way he has to catch himself before he asks her anything. He hates that he has become such a miserable man that his friends have suffered for it. “How is everyone?”

“As well as can be expected. Work is getting finished on time, despite the nonstop flow of paperwork.”

Roy sighs. “I always said you should be the one calling the shots.”

“Pun intended?”

“Fully,” he says and he can't help that his smile is starting to move more towards a grin. He can hear scratching, which is likely her great skill in multitasking serving her well. There's a shuffling of papers and a sigh. “Don't overwork yourself,” he says.

There's silence on the line for a few moments, even though it feels far longer. This is what he deserves. He did this to himself and he needs to remember that. She shouldn't have to put up with him, especially in his current state.

“When will you be returning, sir?”

Every time, she asks him the same question and, every time, he cannot answer.

“I don't know, unfortunately. I will keep you posted, however.”

“I'll be sure to leave some paperwork for you, sir.”

“You're far too kind,” he says in his best deadpan and she lets out a small breath, which is nearly like laughing where she's concerned. “I'll let you get back to work.”

“Until next week,” she says and then the line clicks as she hangs up.

Riza is still far better to him than he deserves.

* * *

 

Some nights, Roy thinks it might be better to let the blizzard take him. He's always heard that you get warm near the end when freezing to death. He can't say he hasn't been tempted to find out. He's too much of a coward to go through with it, though. He's never been much more than a coward hiding behind stone walls and so many masks that sometimes even he forgets who he is. That's why it's better up here. The walls are down and the masks fall away and he can just _be_. He doesn't have to hide and stay strong.

Alphonse is the only person thus far that he's allowed into his little sanctuary.

Alphonse is remarkable in so many more ways than Roy can put to words and it's a shame that Ed can't be here to see how much his baby brother has grown. Ed would likely just be happy that he is alive but Alphonse is so much more than alive. He's brilliant and driven and witty. He can banter with the best of them and talk circles around even the most learned of scholars. Sure, he's hurting but he uses that as his fuel to keep moving forward. Which is more than he can say for himself.

Roy sips his brandy while thumbing through the few photos he has from the earlier days. He's grateful for every single one. He needs to keep this image alive in his mind. He needs to keep it fresh so he never forgets. The angle of his jaw, the sharpness in his eyes, the grin so bright that it was almost blinding. He must never forget the way wisps of gold caught in the thick eyelashes or the way he would scrunch his face when he was trying his hardest not to laugh.

He cannot forget the conversations and the mutual respect and that final farewell.

He should probably switch to a lighter drink. Alcohol always makes him far more melodramatic and elevates the want from a pining to a deep longing. He should probably have tea.

Roy carefully tucks the photos back into the small album and he smiles as his eyes track over more recent ones of Alphonse. Roy has not once regretted getting him that camera and Alphonse has been sure to show his appreciation by taking photographs constantly. Roy's favorite is the one he'd sent him from a visit to Dublith earlier in the year where he's grinning with an ice cream in one hand and some on his cheek. He looks absolutely precious.

He still needs that tea.

The album is returned to its place of rest, where it will remain undamaged until the next time he needs to soothe his weary soul with the old memories.

The melodrama is definitely due to the alcohol.

* * *

 

With any luck, not that he's ever had any, Alphonse will write to him before too long. Next to the photo album in his desk sits an album that exists solely to hold the letters Al has sent him. Calling them letters may be underselling them a bit. It's more accurate to say that Al sends him short stories. He's fairly certain the longest was roughly twenty-five pages. Roy isn't sure how the boy finds the time to write so much, what with all of the studying and theorizing.

He had one from Ed once upon a time. He'd read it a total of one time because any more felt like it might make his heart stop altogether. That one is gone now, tucked in the journal he'd given to the younger Elric.

Roy _does_ still have a few reports he withheld due to lack of relevance to finding him. Many of them have coffee rings at the corners and one even has a doodle of some civilian Ed had met that had driven him mad. Despite his constant complaints, Ed's reports were always a joy to read. It was like reading the ramblings of a madman that, at first, seemed like incoherent gibbersh scribbled on the page. However, by the end of each one, much of it made so much sense that one might wonder why they ever thought it anything other than brilliant before.

He should check the local post office for the latest Elric update.

Alponse doesn't disappoint and, soon enough, Roy is settling in front of the fire, tea in one hand and the letter in the other. This one seems to be much shorter than usual.

_Roy,_

_I want to start off by saying thank you. I know I said it before but I will keep saying it for as long as I can. So, thank you._

_I'm writing this on the train to Dublith. Even though I haven't been gone long, I hope you're doing well! Please remember to take care of yourself. I know you think you don't deserve the concern but you do. Plus, I know I can get the Lieutenant to harangue you when I can't. So, when you look at it that way, you should really just heed my advice._

_I'm going to keep this letter brief (Shocker!) for now. I just wanted to thank you again._

_Just remember that, no matter how alone you start to feel, you always have me and brother at your back, okay?_

_And he is coming back. I promise._

_Stay safe and healthy!_

_Sincerely,_  
_Alphonse_

_P.S._

_I sent you a gift this time! Take good care of it!_

Roy smiles. He wonders what lovely photograph Alphonse has sent him this time but as he sets the letter aside, all that is left is another piece of paper, folded and tucked into the envelope. That's odd.

He unfolds it and his heart sticks in his throat for a few moments before he careful closes it again.

He will not cry, he will not admit just how much it means for him to have this back. Alphonse Elric is an angel that Roy does not deserve to have in his life.

Ed is going to be so damn _proud_ when he gets home.

* * *

 

Six months.

No letters.

No photos.

Nothing.

He's asked Riza but she's about as clueless as he is. He'd asked Gracia as well but she only sounded just as concerned as he did.

“Where do you suppose he could have gone?”

“I honestly don't know. I am certain, though,” he says, gripping the receiver a little tighter, “that it has something to do with Ed.”

He can hear her smiling. “But of course.” There's silence for long enough that Roy thinks she's hung up or the call has dropped. He nearly puts the receiver back in the cradle by the time she speaks again. “How are you?”

“Fine.”

“Don't you lie to me, Roy Mustang.”

This is precisely why he never calls her. She's too damn smart.

“Look,” she says and her voice softens in the way that always pierces straight through his chest, “please, take care of yourself. No matter what you may think, you _are_ a good man.”

He laughs and she sighs.

“What?” she says.

“I'm beginning to think you and Alphonse are scheming to force me to be happy,” he says.

This time she's full on grinning. It's strange how he can intuit facial expressions without any visual cues. “And you know we're going to win.”

It's Roy's turn to stop talking for a few moments. “If you hear from him, tell him to contact me please.”

“Of course I will. Take care.”

“You as well,” he says before he hangs up and sighs.

Six months, zero contact, and no one has seen him. Alphonse better be safe. Ed would kill him if anything happened to him, and Roy would let him.

He'll just have to wait. It is all he's good for after all.


End file.
